THE LAND OF SCOTT AND BURNS.
Glasgow.--Visit to Ayr.--Story of Highland Mary.--Glasgow
to Edinburgh.--Scene in Edinburgh at Night.--The Castle.--
Melrose.--Long Summer Days.
Old Glasgow, almost encircled by hills and uplands, presents a
picturesque view, as the steamer moves slowly up the narrowing channel
of the Clyde. But with its rapid commercial growth, its 2,000,000
spindles, its steam-power, and its busy marts of trade, it is a city
of the present rather than the past, and beyond the Knox monument and
the Cathedral presents few attractions to the history-loving stranger.
Our tourists stopped at Glasgow to make a day's excursion to the home
of Burns. They were taken from the boat to the Queen's Hotel in
George's Square; but George Howe and Leander Towle after resting with
the rest of the party, secured lodgings in a private house.
The boys arose the next morning, with dreams of the Doon and Ayr. To
their disappointment, a heavy mist hung over the city; and they found
it a dreary and disappointing walk to the South Side Station, where
they were to take the train for Ayr. The two hours' ride on the train
was as colorless; they were whirled through a novel and beautiful
summer landscape, but Nature had dropped her sea-curtain and
sky-curtain of fog and mist over all.
When the party arrived at Ayr, it was raining. The boys' faces, too,
were cloudy, and each one pressed Master Lewis with the question,
"What shall we do?"
Tommy Toby at last answered the rather embarrassing question with,
"Let us consult the barometer."
[Illustration: {THE BOYS CONSULT THE BAROMETER.}]
The barometer, too, wore a cloudy face, and frowned at them, as though
it meant never to predict fine weather again.
But, after waiting awhile at the station, there were signs of lifting
clouds and clearing skies. A weather-wise old Scotchman promised the
party a fair day, and bid them "God speed" for the home of "Robbie
Burns." Presently, the sun began to shoot his lances through the mist,
and the tourists set out for their first walk, which was to be a
two-mile one, to Burns's cottage.
[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF ROBERT BURNS.]
The cottage was indeed an humble one. It was built by the father of
Burns, with his own hands, before his marriage, and originally
contained two rooms.
In the interior of the kitchen, a Scotchwoman showed to the party a
recess where
"The bard peasant first drew breath."
The simplicity of the place and its ennobling associations seemed to
touch all except Tommy, who remarked to Frank Gray,--
"I was born in a better room than that myself."
"But I fear you never will be called to sing the songs of a nation."
"I fear I never shall," said Tommy, meekly.
From the cottage, the party went to the Burns monument.
From the base of its columns, the beauties of Scottish scenery began
to appear.
"It is the way in which one ends life that honors the place of one's
birth," said Frank to Tommy.
"So I see," said Tommy, as the sun came out and covered the beautiful
monument, and illuminated the record of the poet's fame.
The tourists, under the direction of a Scottish farmer, whose
acquaintance Master Lewis had made, next proceeded to an eminence
commanding a view of the mansion house of Coilsfield, the
romance-haunting Castle of Montgomery.
"There," said the Scotchman, "lived Burns's first sweetheart."
"Highland Mary?" asked several voices.
"Yes."
"They were separated by death," said Master Lewis. "Can you tell us
the story?"
"As Mary was expecting soon to be wedded to Burns, she went to visit
her kin in Argyleshire. She met Burns for the last time on a Sunday in
May. It was a lovely day, and standing one on the one side and one on
the other of a small brook, and holding a Bible between them, they
promised to be true to each other for ever.
"On the journey, Mary fell sick and died. You have read Burns's lines
'To Mary in Heaven'?"
That sacred hour can I forget?
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past;
Thy image at our last embrace!
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!
"Do you ever sing the songs of Burns?" asked Master Lewis.
"Would you like to hear me try 'Highland Mary'?"
"Do!" said Ernest Wynn, who was always affected by ballad music.
The Scotchman quoted a line or two of the poem, changing from the
English to the Scottish accent. The boys were charmed with the words,
and sat down on the grass to listen to
HIGHLAND MARY.
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder:
But, oh! fell death's untimely frost
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!
Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
The "banks and braes and streams around" gleamed like a vision of
enchantment in the full noon sunlight. Never had the boys listened to
a song amid such highly romantic associations.
Bidding the entertaining Scotchman farewell, the party returned to
Ayr, and thence to Glasgow, where it arrived in the lingering sunlight
of the long afternoon.
The next morning it left by rail for Edinburgh, that city of high
houses and terraced hills; of grandly picturesque beauty; of the times
of Bruce, and the bright and dark days of the Stuarts; where one is
surrounded by the relics of a thousand years, and stands under the
protecting shadow of a castle that seems lifted into the regions of
air.
The party took rooms on Prince's Street, a thoroughfare one hundred
feet wide and a mile in length, graced with noble monuments of art and
bowery pleasure-grounds. It is considered one of the most picturesque
streets in the world.
Around you are shops with splendid windows, statues, public gardens,
birds, and flowers; above you are houses six or eight stories high;
above these, on the rocky hillsides, are queer old buildings of other
times; and high over all is the Castle, cold and grand on its rocky
throne.
"I shall rest to-morrow, boys," said Master Lewis, "and shall let you
roam at will. Let us spend the evening in one of the public gardens."
After supper, the party went to one of these fragrant street-gardens.
The band of the Duchess of Sutherland's Own, as a certain Highland
regiment is called, filled the quiet air with delicious music.
The sun withdrew his light from the street, the gardens, and the tall
houses on the hills, but the Castle stood long in the mellowed glory
of the sunset.
But the sun left even the Castle at last, and then began a spectacle
that seemed like an illusion or fairy-land.
[Illustration: EDINBURGH CASTLE.]
Lights began to twinkle in the streets; then in the tall windows
above them. Now and then a whole face of an antique pile was
illuminated; now some little eyrie that seemed hanging in air burst
into flame; now a line of terraces began to twinkle. The lights crept
up the hillsides everywhere.
"I never saw any thing so beautiful!" said Ernest Wynn.
Every one talks of the Castle in Edinburgh, and the boys paid their
first visit to it, and saw it in its morning glory. On the highest
platform of the Castle, three hundred and eighty-three feet above the
sea, stands the celebrated old cannon Mons Meg, made in Mons, in
Brittany, in 1486. It had figured in so many wars and historic scenes,
that the Scottish people came to regard it as a national relic. The
site of the Castle is about seven hundred feet in circumference, and
on three sides it seems just a bare rock, rising almost
perpendicularly in air.
[Illustration: HOLYROOD PALACE.]
The boys next visited Arthur's Seat, a high rock on the top of a hill,
in which there is a fancied resemblance to a chair. Queen Victoria
climbed up to it on a recent visit. It commands a sweeping view of the
sea, and the hills that encircle the city.
They next went to the old Palace of Holyrood, and were shown the
apartments of the unfortunate Queen of Scots.
"There," said the tall Scotchman who attended them about the place,
"is the room where Rizzio was murdered, in the presence of Mary."
They were told that a certain stain in the floor was the blood of the
hapless man.
[Illustration: MARY STUART.]
"We must ask Master Lewis to tell us the whole story," said Wyllys.
They next visited St. Giles, the scene of the preaching of Knox, the
Martyrs' Monument, and Knox's grave.
"We must have an evening meeting of the Club in Edinburgh," said
Wyllys Wynn, when the party with Master Lewis were at tea.
"To-night?" asked Frank.
"I would wait until after we have been to Abbotsford," said Master
Lewis. "Then I would have a meeting in the parlor, and let each one
tell some story associated with the most interesting object he has
seen."
[Illustration: MURDER OF RIZZIO.]
The next day Master Lewis and the tourists, except George and Leander,
who preferred remaining in the city, took the train for Melrose,
stopped at Melrose Station, and rode to Abbotsford, the reputed haunt
of Thomas the Rhymer, and the residence of Walter Scott.
They were met at the entrance of the gray mansion by a tall Scotchman,
and were taken from the magnificent entrance hall, about forty feet in
length, to the dining-room, which has a wonderful black-oak roof, and
is the place where Sir Walter died. Gazing from the window on the
beautiful landscape for the last time, he said to Lockhart, "Bring me
a book." "What book?" "There is but one book."
They were next shown the library, a repository of some twenty thousand
books and of presents from most eminent persons, among them a silver
urn from Lord Byron and two arm-chairs from the Pope.
Our tourists next visited the ruin of Melrose Abbey, and found it less
interesting than its historic associations. Late evening found them
again in Edinburgh.
"What time of the evening do you think it is?" asked Master Lewis of
the boys as they entered the hotel.
"Seven o'clock," said Tommy Toby.
"After nine o'clock," said Master Lewis.
The Castle still stood in the damask light of the twilight, like a
dark picture on an illuminated curtain.
"The summer days in these Northern regions are as long as they are
beautiful," said Master Lewis.